You're Gonna Be Okay
by ChocolateandRedBull
Summary: Prompt: In less than 1000 words, write about this: 'Date someone who will let you fall asleep in your car, drive the whole time, be okay with it, and avoid the pot holes so you sleep fine.'
1. Chapter 1

**Okay so I wrote this ages ago for Torchwood but I decided to rewrite it for Teen Wolf. Let me know what you think!**

 **Also another shoutout to Brentinator for checking this out for me!**

 **Prompt: In less than 1000 words, write about this: 'Date someone who will let you fall asleep in your car, drive the whole time, be okay with it, and avoid the pot holes so you sleep fine.'**

 **I just to add a little drama to it. I'm sorry Stiles.**

Stiles Stilinski sat in the back of the parked ambulance, wrapped in a blanket, staring into space.

Unnoticed by him, two paramedics stood a little away from him.

"Shock," one of them muttered, stealing glances at the man sitting alone by the ambulance. "The poor guy, have we contacted anyone for him?"

"Yeah, he had some guy under the name 'Emergency Contact' so I just called him back, explained what had happened and he said he'd be here as fast as he could." The first paramedic nodded, looking over at the man who had yet to break his gaze from his small puddle of shock-induced vomit a few yards from his feet.

"Has he said anything yet?" the first paramedic asked. "Not a word," replied the second. "But after what he's been through I'm just surprised he's sitting upright."

The paramedics were interrupted as tyres screeched, a Camaro turned the corner and pulled up on the opposite side of the paramedics. A tall man jumped out wrapped in a leather jacket.

"Derek Hale," he said, gruffly. "I'm here for Stilinski."

The paramedics gestured towards the lit ambulance, and Derek began to run towards him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," the paramedic called, "he's in shock. No telling what he'd do."

Derek stopped and looked at Stiles who had yet to notice Derek's arrival. Derek's face somewhat softened, as he pulled off his jacket, shivering a little in the autumn air.

He cautiously crept towards his friend. "Stiles? Stiles, it's me, it's Derek," he called softly. Stiles' gaze broke from the small pool of vomit on the ground. He looked up at Derek with tears in his eyes, his right eye swollen shut.

"'erek?" he choked out, as tears started to fall. Derek wrapped his coat around Stiles' shuddering shoulders and placed his arms around him as Stiles pressed his face to his chest. Derek stared at the chaos behind the parked ambulance, "Its' okay, Stiles, it's me, you're okay now, I promise. They can't hurt you anymore," he said softly, resting his chin on Stiles' head as he sobbed.  
"C'mon, let's go home, let's get you to bed," Derek said, slowly peeling Stiles from his chest, placing his hands on his shoulders and steering him towards the car.

Derek nodded towards the paramedics who nodded back solemnly as Stiles stumbled towards the car.

Derek pulled open the door of the car and helped Stiles crawl inside, noticing him flinch as he leaned back into the seat. Derek pulled the seatbelt around him gently and closed the door as quietly as he could, quickly running around and climbing in himself.

As Derek pulled out onto the road. Stiles spoke quietly. "I-I don't want to... to go home... j-just yet, can... can we just drive around a bit first."

"Stiles, I really think we should get you home..." Derek said, pityingly.

"Please." Stiles' voice was tired, pleading.

"Sure," Derek said quietly, "Whatever you want."

After a half hour of driving around Beacon Hills, Derek chanced a look at the ever-silent researcher. His face melted as he saw Stiles' head tilted to one side, asleep, his black eye really starting to show. Derek realised that he had just wanted some peace before going back to his house, full of deafening silences since his dad had left for that trial in Chicago a week ago.

Derek slowed down considerably as he drove through the back streets of Beacon Hills, making sure to miss each pot hole he came across so he wouldn't disturb his sleeping friend.

Derek decided to take Stiles back to the loft, let him stay with him for a while, until he was sure he can cope on his own. As he pulled into the parking lot, he made sure to park close to the elevator. Derek climbed out as quietly as he could, and gently lifted Stiles from the car.  
Stiles whimpered slightly at being moved, before curling into Derek's chest.

Derek stood in the lift, holding Stiles close to him as they quickly went downwards. Derek cursed the loud 'ping' it made and thanked anyone who was listening that Stiles didn't wake up.

Derek slowly made his way towards his room and gently lay Stiles down on the bed. Stiles whimpered at the loss of contact before latching himself onto Derek's leg. Derek made a quick decision and quickly removed his shirt, belt and shoes and lay down beside the boy. He smiled softly as Stiles rested his head on his chest.

Derek quickly grabbed his phone and sent a text to the rest of the Pack:  
stay away from the loft until monday

As Derek turned off his phone he wrapped his arms around Stiles once more. "They can't hurt you anymore, Stiles. You're okay."


	2. Chapter 2

**Don't forget to fav and review!**

Derek half-opened his eyes and quickly glanced at the clock.

3:47am.

He ran a hand over his face as he rolled onto his side. Stiles was gone. Again. Derek sighed.

He climbed out of bed and pulled on his trousers and boots, running a hand through his hair as he made his way towards the kitchen, quickly made two cups of coffee and climbed into the elevator.

It had been a month since Derek had been called to pick up Stiles and it had been a month and one day since he had woken up with Stiles by his side.

Derek shivered as the night air hit him and he smiled sadly as he spotted Stiles on the other side of the roof, looking out onto the darkened town and leaning against the railing. Derek slowly strode over to him, handed him the cup of coffee and wordlessly stood beside him.

Long after the coffee had gone cold, Derek spoke quietly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Derek knew that Stiles had nightmares. He heard him whimpering and muttering in his sleep every night.

Stiles didn't reply, but then again, Derek hadn't expected him to. He never did. He never said much of anything anymore.

Melissa says it's some sort of PTSD. She says that Stiles would be affected by what had happened until he could learn to cope, until he could realise that it's over and that life goes on.

Scott had told him that he's only seen him like this once before and that was when his mother had died, he shrunk into himself and couldn't function for months afterwards.

Derek had noticed that Stiles had been overly distracted over the last month. Especially when being told to do something. Derek had frequently asked Stiles for a cup of coffee in the morning, and not received it until afternoon, with nothing but a rushed apology and a quick getaway.

Derek was torn between making Stiles take his medication or leaving him be, knowing that the Adderal would make him even more of a zombie than usual.

Between what Derek had been told on the phone that night, and Melissa's injury reports, they were able to piece together roughly what had happened, and Derek was almost sick to his stomach whenever he thought about it.

No wonder Stiles was the way he was.

"Why don't you take the day off tomorrow?" Derek said quietly. "Relax. I could bring you home for the day, I'd come back and get you in the evening, of course," Derek said, pleading for some bit of normalcy in the man.  
"No."

"But-"

"I said 'n-no,' Derek. I-I don't want to go home. I'll stay here. I'll try harder, I s-swear," he said, sounding as he wanted to cry.

"Stiles, it's not about you not trying hard. I just thought you might want a little break. You don't have to if you don't want to."

"S-sorry," he muttered quietly.

"Don't be. You don't have to be sorry for anything, Stiles, none of this is your fault," Derek said, watching Stiles' face twitch slightly as he watched the lights of them gas station across the street.

Scott and Melissa had also mentioned the stutter. Stiles was finding it hard to talk about what had happened. He never liked to show weakness. Melissa had said that until he was willing to talk about what had happened, and what was happening because of it, he would have this stutter. Scott knew how to handle it because he'd had the stutter for over a year after his mother had died. Derek had often asked Stiles a question and had to sit there for a good five minutes before he could get an answer, wincing as Stiles grew more and more frustrated with himself. Scott said that the best way to handle this was to show him patience, act like nothing was different. He didn't say but Derek knew that Stiles appreciated it.

"Ma-Maybe I will go home," Stiles said after a while. "T-Tomorrow. Get- Get out of yo-your hair f-for a bit," he said, still not looking at Derek.

Derek's heart broke a little at the tone of his voice. "Stiles..." he trailed.

"Y-You should g-go back to b-bed. It's l-late. S-Sorry f-for keeping you aw-wake," he said quietly, turning around. "You t-take the elevator. I'm go-gonna take the s-stairs."

He was gone before Derek had a chance to stop him.

* * *

"Derek?" Lydia said as she stood in the doorway of his room. "Where's Stiles today?"

"He went home for the day, I'm gonna go back and pick him up around six..." Derek said absentmindedly, flipping through a book.

"Are you sure that's smart, Derek? I don't know if he should be alone right now," she said worriedly.

"He's fine, Lydia, Stiles is a big boy, he can handle himself," he said, not looking up from his book.

"Whatever you say..." she said, walking towards the living room.  
Derek sighed as she left. He didn't want to admit it but he was worried about Stiles too.

* * *

"You heard from Stiles yet?" Scott asked over lunch, mouth full of pizza.

"No, I haven't, Scott, because he's able to spend a day by himself without us checking up on him," Derek said, irritably.

"Just asking a question, Derek, we're all worried about him, not just you," Scott muttered.

Derek sighed.

* * *

going to stay here tonight. will get bus back in the morning. thanks. –stiles

Derek sighed when he got the text, trying to decide whether or not to call him, just to check in. But Derek knew that Stiles wanted to be alone. Knew that he could use a night to himself. Despite how much Derek's wolf was screaming at him to go and pick him up.

2:55 am and Derek was awoken by the door sliding open. He slowly got out of bed and pulled on his trousers before leaving his room and going to check who was there.

Derek just made it to the top of the stairs in time to see Stiles stumble through the door, an almost empty bottle of vodka in his hand. Derek blinked when he saw him wearing ripped jeans, a white t-shirt with a vomit stain on the front and a plaid shirt covered in mud stains. Stiles' hair was a mess, as if he'd been running his hands through it. He also had a large gash on his cheek.

Derek watched him as he stumbled over to the banister and leaned over it, head down. He seemed to be nursing his right arm. Derek could have sworn he heard him groan. He then watched as he stood up and stumbled slowly towards to kitchen, downing the last of the bottle.

Derek climbed down the stairs and followed Stiles to the kitchen, watching him intently. As he stood in the doorway, he saw Stiles leaning on the open door of the fridge, one hand over his eyes. Derek cleared his throat. Stiles tensed slightly, but didn't turn around, instead pulling a six-pack from the fridge and moving to the counter to pull one out.

"I think you've had enough," Derek said quietly.

"I know when I've had enough," he muttered, taking a swig and belching into his hand.

Derek moved towards Stiles and pulled the six-pack away from him, placing it back in the fridge as Stiles paled. "You okay, Stiles?" Derek asked tentatively. Stiles nodded his head, still not wanting to reveal his weaknesses. Derek nodded knowingly as Stiles stared at him. He scratched his uninjured cheek before turning to the sink and puking up a mouthful of vomit, wincing visibly.

Stiles leaned over the sink and groaned. Derek placed a hand on his back, to which he flinched and shrugged it away. "D-Don't," he breathed, "Just leave me alone."  
Derek sighed, knowing Stiles wouldn't cooperate when he was like this. "You can stay here," Derek said quietly as he turned to the door. "Or you can come upstairs. I'll be waiting."

It was an hour later when Stiles made an attempt at climbing the stairs, which in turn took fifteen minutes. He flopped into Derek's desk chair and began to spin slowly, eyes closed. "You wanna talk?" Derek asked from the doorway.

"Rather not," Stiles muttered, not opening his eyes.

"How're you feeling?" Derek asked, leaning against his desk. "A bit shit," Stiles said quietly.

"How'd you cut your face?" Derek asked, trying to get the man to talk.

"I fell," Stiles muttered, sounding like a moody teenager.

"Does it hurt?" Derek questioned.

"I think I can handle it," he muttered.

Derek sighed. "I think I liked it better when you weren't talking."

Stiles opened his eyes, but didn't look up from his lap. "I think you liked it better when I wasn't here," he murmured.

Derek sighed. "I know you don't believe that."

"You don't know what I believe," Stiles said, throwing his legs over the armrest of the chair, arm in his lap and placing a hand over his eyes.

"Okay, I know you're pretty wasted but you can lose the attitude whenever you want. I'm just trying to help," Derek said, pushing himself back to sit on the desk.

Stiles shrugged.

"Stiles, you're going to have to talk about it sometime," Derek said, quietly.

"What's there to talk about?" Stiles said, leg twitching anxiously. "It's over; we need to forget about it. It was nobody's fault but my own. I just got in with the wrong kind of people."

Derek watched Stiles' leg twitch and could hear his voice threatening to break.

Stiles sighed before continuing, "But they're gone now, and that's that. Drama over."

"Stiles..." Derek said, heart melting at the words he spoke.

"I just- I just... It just happened so fast, you know?" Stiles said, keeping his hand over his eyes.

"Like, they were my friends, I grew up with them, and yeah, sure, I knew they were a bit on the rough side but I didn't think they'd do that."

"A bit on the rough side? The paramedics said you were all chock-full of every drug imaginable. Hanging around in an abandoned warehouse with people like that and doing... whatever it is you guys did... is not 'a bit' rough, Stiles," Derek said incredulously.

"Yeah, okay, I went a bit crazy, you can't expect me to be this funny little shit with a stick up his ass all the time. I just wanted to let go, just for a little while. I wanted to be away from all this. From life." Stiles sighed. "From me. It's an addiction and it's hard to kick, I'll admit that, I just need you and the others to stop treating me like a _fucking child_ and acting like nothing's wrong when everything so clearly is," Stiles said, voice getting angrier and more upset with each word.

"Stiles, we're not here to treat you like a child, we're here to help you get through this. You shouldn't be afraid to ask us for help, especially when we're so willing to give it. The Pack are all here for you, we're not judging you, we know how easy it is to slip into these habits. No one thinks any different of you," Derek said, almost pleading Stiles to see reason.

Stiles got up from Derek's chair and stumbled across the room to the small bathroom, to which he leaned over the sink and upchucked another mouthful of vomit, wincing visibly, head down and groaning quietly. "You okay, Stiles?"

Stiles turned to him, arm wrapped around his abdomen. "I fell..."

Derek stood up and crossed the room quickly putting his arm around Stiles, "What? What do you mean? Where?"

"I-I went down to the- the warehouse, just to see it, I don't know why. And the only way we could ever get in was climb a tree and get in through a broken window. I got in fine but I fell climbing out. M-My ribs. I think I hit them on the way down. And my shoulder. It hurts," Stiles said quietly, slumping back into Derek's chair, returning his hand to its place over his eyes.

"Stiles, rib injuries can be pretty serious, you could have damaged a lung, I think I need to call Melissa," Derek said, pulling out his phone to call the Pack's nurse.

Stiles eyes shot open. "No!" he gasped. "Don't call Melissa. I don't want Scott to know what happened."

"But, Stiles, I have to. We have to get you checked out."

"No. I can't let him know..." Stiles said quietly.

"Let him know what-?" Derek stopped as the realisation hit him.

"You weren't alone at the warehouse, were you? Stiles, you _promised_ me you'd tell me if you were anywhere near this stuff again. We had a deal."

"My head hurts," Stiles muttered, before groaning, "Could you turn down the lights, please?" Derek flicked on a lamp in the corner of the room and turned off the overhead lights as he pulled out his phone and dialled Scott's number.

"What do you want, Derek, it's like 4 am?" Scott grunted into his phone. "It's Stiles, I need your mom to come check him out, I think he's cracked some ribs and by the looks of it he's dislocated his shoulder, and he just- he just seems a little off, he hit his head, he's pretty wasted as well."

Scott sighed. "Shit, um, yeah, sure, we'll be there in a half hour, don't let him fall asleep," he said tiredly, hanging up the phone.

* * *

"Stiles, buddy, you have to stay awake for me. Melissa is gonna check you for a concussion," Derek said softly.

"Stiles, kiddo, I've gotta check you over, c'mon, open your eyes," Melissa said, yawning.

"I don' have a c'cussion..." Stiles murmured, arm in his lap and hand over his eyes.

"Stiles, we have to get you checked out, just work with us for ten minutes and you can go to sleep, I promise," Scott pleaded.

"M'fine," Stiles muttered, "Jus' g'way..." he slurred as he tried to curl away from the people kneeling beside him. Derek and Scott's eyes widened simultaneously as their heightened senses picked up on Stiles' dinner moving slightly too late, wincing as he gagged and puked into his lap.

"Stiles, I'm not here to piss around. You can sit here, and go to sleep and there could be a very large chance you won't wake up. Or you can let Melissa check you over and make you feel better. Your choice," Derek said, losing his patience.

"Mmm..." Stiles hummed but made no move to get up.

"Derek, he's high as a kite, wasted beyond belief, concussed, possible broken ribs and a probable dislocated shoulder. He's not gonna cooperate with us so we're gonna have to get him to the bed ourselves," Scott said, scratching the back of his hand. "Pick him up on three. One, two..."

* * *

Derek and Scott lowered Stiles onto the bed to which he bent his legs and threw an arm over his eyes. "Lights..." he muttered.

"You're gonna have to stick it out, Stiles, I can't work in the dark," Melissa muttered, pulling Stiles' mud and vomit stained shirt up and inspecting his ribcage. Derek winced as he saw the deep purple bruises already starting to form.

Stiles winced and pulled away as Melissa lightly placed her fingers on his lower ribs.

"Okay, Stiles, I'm just gonna check your head. I know you don't want to but you're going to have to open your eyes for just a little bit," Melissa said, picking up her doctor's flashlight and flicking it on.

Stiles groaned, "No..." he whined, screwing his eyes shut even more.

"Boys?" Melissa said nodding to Stiles. Derek sighed and pulled Stiles' functioning arm from above his face and held it down while Melissa held his eye open and shone a light into them, looking for the telltale signs of concussion.

Stiles whimpered and tried to pull away as Melissa finished up.

Derek looked at her questioningly. Melissa tapped Stiles' cheek, "Stiles, kiddo, stay awake for me, I just need to reset your shoulder and then you can go to sleep, I promise. You have a mild concussion but I'm gonna stay here with you to make sure you're okay," Melissa said loudly into Stiles' ear. Stiles mumbled and tried to pull away from the sound and the sting of Melissa cleaning the gash on his face.

Once Melissa had finished disinfecting Stiles' face and tending to his cracked ribs, she tapped his face again and said loudly to get his attention. "C'mon, Stiles, sit up, we have to get this shoulder fixed."

Stiles groaned again and made no more to sit up. With the help of Derek and Scott, Melissa got Stiles sitting up and as they held him steady, Melissa grabbed Stiles' shoulder and quickly twisted it.

Derek's eyes squeezed shut as Stiles cried out. Melissa let Stiles lie back down for a moment to catch his breath. Melissa took a deep breath.

Stiles groaned loudly and gagged.

"Shit," Melissa muttered before dragged Stiles upwards and picking up a bowl and shoving it under his chin as he retched.

"C'mon, kiddo, there's no need for this," Melissa said quietly, "Get it up and you can go to sleep." Stiles groaned as he finished and spat into the dish.

Melissa pulled the sheets up and tucked him in, before quickly packing up her things and moving towards the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

**So I should apologise for being so late? I've literally had this done for ages but then I went traveling for a month and I didn't bring my laptop with me so I couldn't upload it! This is the final chapter but if anyone has any prompts at all please let me know and I'll give it a go! Don't forget to rate and review!**

When Stiles Stilinski began to return to consciousness he immediately regretted it. He knew what would come next. The paranoia, the pain, the overwhelming sense of emptiness.

He wished he could just stay asleep. As he started to get more aware of his surroundings he thought he felt more pain than usual. Then his memories from the last month caught up with him.

He was on a high. Not as good as the ones he'd had before but it was better than being sober.

But then again, anything was better than being sober.

He was lying on one of the old, dirty mattresses that Deano had found.

His arm hurt. He didn't think that needle was clean enough. But he'd never cared before so why should he care now? What's the worst that could happen?

Derek would freak if he saw him like this. He should call Derek. He's been trying to call him, he's wondering where he was. As if he cares, though, he probably just wants me to look something up or something, Stiles thought. Fucking Researcher that's all he is to them.

Stiles opened his eyes slowly when he heard the rest of his friends drive into the yards, whooping, laughing and screaming. They were revving up the car, trying to let the people inside know they were here.

They wanted them to go out, and that means they've done it.

"Right, boys, we've done it!" They screamed as the men climbed down from the tree. "We've finally done it! We broke in and there it was, just sitting there in all its purple glory." That's when Stiles noticed they weren't driving Kev's car, they we're driving the Saints' truck. Stiles couldn't deny the shiver of fear at the thought of what was to come when the Saints find out that they've got their truck.

The Murdock Saints, or Saints, were a group of guys who'd lived across town since as far back as Stiles could remember. They weren't exactly a gang but people knew not to mess around when they saw the purple truck come down the street. Once you stayed out of their way, they never bothered you, they'd even been known to help people. But Stiles' friends didn't exactly like to stay out of their way. Stiles was never sure exactly what happened to start the feud between the Saints and them, but he knew it was something to do with Nick and the Saints' leader's sister. Stiles thought it best to stay out of it.

"Is that such a good idea?" Someone behind Stiles said. Wes, maybe? Stiles' sense of recognition wasn't too good when he was high, he'd noticed. "Who gives a fuck?" Someone else shouted. "It's brilliant! We have to take it for a lap of honour 'round the estates!"

Stiles scratched at the inside of his elbow, picking at the small scabs that had formed where he'd put the needles in wrong.

"But, what happens when the Saints find out that we took it?"  
They'll kill us."

"We'll arm ourselves then," someone shouted, which was greeted by a laugh.

An hour later, everyone was back inside, out of the rain that had started to fall. Stiles scratched at his arm once more before he heard a car pull of upside. He froze. He heard shouting and banging outside and watching as some of the guys stood up and hopped up onto the pile of boxes and disappeared out the window. All was quiet until shouting was heard and a loud thud.

Everyone was on their feet within seconds and they hopped out the window to see what was happening outside.

As Stiles hopped from the last branch of the tree he caught sight of Nick in a heap on the ground and he didn't seem to be moving. Stiles wanted nothing more than to run over to him and make sure he was okay but the sheer number of Saints standing in front of them made him think twice.

Stiles can't remember exactly what happened next but he knows that there was a lot of shouting, a lot of swearing and next thing he knew he was on the ground getting a boot to the face. He grabbed the Saint's ankle and pulled, twisted it sharply, only stopping when he heard a crack and a cry from the man.

Stiles quickly got to his feet and ran over to where a Saint was wrestling with Deano, gave a single swift kick to his kneecap and grabbed him in a headlock for enough time to Deano get up, dust himself off and kick the Saint in the stomach. Stiles let go and Deano quickly grabbed his head and slammed it into the concrete.

People were dropping to the ground left, right and centre as he and Deano ran from one brawl to the next, helping where they could.

Soon, each small fight merged into one big one, revolving solely around the leader of the Saints and Nick. Stiles was so mesmerised by the fight that he almost didn't see the flash of silver as it was pulled from a pocket and handed quickly to the leader of the Saints. Stiles didn't think twice. He dived and tackled the Saint to the ground, pulling his wrist back until the loud crack was heard and the knife was dropped.

Stiles then stood up and kicked the man in the head, the anger in him not ceasing until long after he had stopped moving. Stiles stood over the leader of the Saints and froze as he realised what he'd done.

Every man stood staring, wondering who this small, scrawny little shit was and how had he just taken down the leader of the Murdock Saints.

Then sirens were heard. They could see the flashing lights in the distance and everyone quickly panicked and ran. Stiles didn't know what to do, he couldn't see a way out of this situation. He looked down to see the knife in his hand, when had he picked that up? He couldn't move with fear.

Then he saw Nick running at him, screaming something. Stiles couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. He just saw his lips moving, contorting with each yell.

Stiles turned just in time to see that the warehouse was engulfed in flames. One of the Saints must have set it alight. He stood watching the blaze in horror, forgetting about the unconscious man at his feet, the knife in his hand and the approaching sirens until Nick collided with him, knocking him to the ground.

Nick pulled the knife from Stiles' fist and punched him in the face.

"What are you doing?!" Stiles yelled. "I'm saving your ass!" cried Nick as he stood above the Saint with the knife in his hand, with a look in his eye that Stiles had never seen before. Then he turned around to kick Stiles in the face.

Stiles can't remember much of what happened next.

* * *

"Hello? You okay? Can you hear us? Come on, wake up..." Stiles heard voices echoing through his head. He groaned.

"There we go, come on now, almost there..." Stiles groaned once more before letting his eyes flutter open, being greeted by the sight of two paramedics standing over him.

Stiles turned his head to the side and looked at the chaos. The fire was almost put out, dozens of firemen tending to it; the Saint's leader was being taken away in a body bag, having left a large pool of blood on the ground. Stiles turned his head the other way, and caught sight of Nick being taken away in a pair of handcuffs. Stiles stared on in shock.

Stiles dragged his arm up to lightly press his fingers to his newly blackened eye and wincing. The paramedics were still talking to him, and then they grabbed his arms and helped him stand up.

Stiles stumbled a few steps towards the parked ambulance before leaning over and retching onto the ground, coughing and spluttering. A paramedic patted his back and hauled him upwards when he'd finished. They led him over to a parked ambulance where they sat him down, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and treated his injuries.

Stiles' phone began to ring in his pocket. He pulled it out and let it slip through his fingers, landing on the ground with a soft thud, one of the paramedics picked it up soon after it had rang out, and when he saw that there had been 14 missed calls from his emergency contact, the number the Pack used when they thought someone might be in trouble, he called him back and explained what happened. Stiles couldn't concentrate on what was happening around him, he just couldn't get himself to focus, when was the last time he took his Adderall?

Next thing he knew, Derek was wrapping his jacket around his shoulders and he was being led towards his car. He'd pleaded with Derek to let them drive around for a bit, not wanting to go back to his quiet house just yet.

He woke up 14 hours later.

"Stiles? You awake?" Derek whispered from his spot in the corner of the room. Stiles groaned and shushed him, before trying to roll over but wincing as the pain shot through his ribs and shoulder.

"Come on, Stiles, I know it hurts but you can't spend the day in bed."

"Yes, I can," Stiles muttered into his pillow.

"You think you can get up?" Derek said quietly.

"Can't. Hurts too much," Stiles said, voice slightly strained.

"Do you want me to get Melissa?" Derek asked, panicking slightly.

"It doesn't hurt _that_ much," Stiles said with a scoff and another wince.

Derek sighed. Stiles scratched at the inside of his elbow, but opened his eyes to find it wrapped in a thick, white bandage.

Derek watched him. "It was infected," he said quietly, "The needles you were using weren't clean enough. Melissa spent ages filling you with every antibiotic we have. But she say's you'll be fine now." Derek wasn't looking at him.

Stiles recognised it as he was or afraid, or had been afraid, he wasn't quite sure.

"Derek, I- I'm sorry, okay? About everything, I really didn't mean it to get this far. I only went last night just to see the wreck, I had no plans on actually using, but some of the boys were there, and I don't know what came over me..." Stiles said, trying to catch Derek's eye.

Derek sighed. "I know, Stiles, I know it's not your fault, and I know you didn't mean for this to happen. I was just... scared; I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

Stiles was at a loss for words.

"I'll let you get back to sleep."

Derek was gone before Stiles had the chance to say anything else.

* * *

Stiles sat in Derek's chair, leg fidgeting and biting his nails. "My ribs hurt!" he called to no one in particular.

"I'd expect so; it's only been a week!" Lydia called back.

"You're not being very helpful," Stiles said, matter-of-factly.

"There's nothing more I can do for you, Stiles, we've patched you up, you're just going to have to deal it," Lydia sighed.

"But I'm starving," Stiles whined.

"No, you're not," Scott stated. "You're just going through withdrawal. That's why you're so restless, and that's why you're so _fucking annoying_."

"Rude," Stiles muttered.

"That's what I'm here for," Scott muttered back.

"Can't I, like, do something?" Stiles asked, scratching at a scab on his hand.

Isaac turned to him. "Like what, Stiles? What do you want to do?"

Stiles stopped. "Well, I don't know..."

Isaac sighed. "Exactly, you don't know. Now shut up while I try and get this work done."

Stiles made a face and went back to biting his finger nails. He winced as one started to bleed.

"I told you to stop biting it, you fucking idiot," Scott muttered, two minutes later as he was placing a band aid around Stiles' finger.

Stiles used his good arm to punch Scott in the ribs.

* * *

"I can't do this!" Stiles shouted, kicking over Derek's chair.

Derek stood behind Stiles, lunch in hand.

"Stiles, it's been a month and a half, I know this withdrawal is killing you, but you're so close, we're all here for you," Derek said, placing a hand on Stiles' shoulder.

"Oh, fuck off, Derek," Stiles muttered, storming out.

"Scott, lock the doors, he's doing a runner again," Derek muttered, knowing Scott would hear him.

Derek watched as Stiles made it to the door and found it locked. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" he screamed, making everyone in the loft jump.

Stiles then turned on his heel and made his way to the roof.

He didn't return for four hours.

* * *

"Stiles, buddy, you've gotta stay awake, I know it's a symptom of your withdrawal but you can beat this, I know you can," Derek said, looking at Stiles in the rear-view mirror, whose head had been drooping for the past ten minutes.

Stiles mumbled something incoherent and let his head fall against the window of the car. Scott pinched Stiles' leg. "C'mon, Stiles, stay awake, don't give in to it."

Without opening his eyes Stiles reached over and gave Scott a dead arm.

"Harsh," Scott muttered, rubbing his arm.

"Stiles, you can't keep doing that, we're just trying to help you," Derek said, as if scolding a child.

However something told Derek that he didn't care as his head dropped to Lydia's shoulder, murmuring incoherently.

* * *

"Well, it's been over a month since you've shown any signs of withdrawal..." Melissa said. "I think you're over the worst of it," she said, snapping off her medical gloves. Both Derek and Stiles sighed in relief.

Stiles put his head in his hands and Derek watched as his shoulders shuddered. Derek tentatively placed his arms around Stiles and held him to his chest.

"I can't believe it," Stiles said into Derek's shoulder. "It's finally over."

"Stiles, its' okay, buddy, you're fine. We're here, it's over," Derek whispered into his ear. "Its' okay, Stiles, you're okay."


End file.
